


some things take root

by fleurting



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fix-It, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:06:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurting/pseuds/fleurting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Allison?”</p><p>"Lydia?" The image on the screen asks and Lydia's unflappable facade is completely unraveled, because it's her. It's Allison. </p><p>The image goes in and out between bits of static, but she manages to make out one thing. </p><p>“Help me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	some things take root

**Author's Note:**

> All my love to Sharon for being the most wonderful beta/person in the entire world. 
> 
> Aominestetsu, I started forming this fic in my head the second I saw your art. I was incredibly inspired by it and I hope you like this!

Lydia sighs as she enters her room, sliding her handbag off her shoulder and onto the floor with a loud thunk; reaching up to massage where the strap had been digging uncomfortably into her skin. It aches, but not nearly as much as her head currently does. She heads to the bathroom in search of a bottle of Advil to alleviate the pain. Though these days it doesn't seem to alleviate much of anything. Next, she pops the pills into her mouth, then easing them down with a gulp of water. It usually takes around half an hour before she starts to feel some relief, so she frees her hair from the tightly secured ponytail it's been in all day, thoroughly intent on doing anything that might help dull the ache. She steps out of her shoes, unzipping her skirt and tossing it into the hamper and walks over to the dresser, picking out a pair of silky pajama bottoms and searching for the faded, old, Beacon Hills lacrosse t-shirt she'd stolen from Jackson years ago. It was so much more comfortable than any of the apparel the school sold to the girls. Allison had wanted to organize a protest. She spins around quickly at the errant thought, shutting the dresser drawer with her rear, leaning back against the drawer, ignoring the knobs where they’re pressing into her skin. Closes her eyes, allows herself to take one big, deep breath before straightening her shoulders and shaking her head as if the action will make the thoughts fall out and onto the floor. She maintains the persona she's put on for everyone: perfectly composed, even in the privacy of her own bedroom. Has to. 

Slipping into her pajamas, Lydia starts towards her desk in order to turn on the lamp. When she was younger, she’d never been afraid of the dark; but now, she find she can’t sleep without a light on. If she tries, her mind supplies her with hundreds of images; her hands holding onto the dirt of the lacrosse field as Peter's claws are wrapped around her ankles, Jackson in the scaly skin of the Kanima, Stiles with his eyes dark and cruel, Allison. 

Logically, she knows the light doesn't ward off the dreams, doesn't ward off anything. She knows that it most likely does more harm than good, affecting neural oscillations, but it's become something needed in order to lull herself into reduced consciousness. Like a safety blanket.

The desk is positioned in front of the window, and she stops for a second to look at the view. It's beautiful, from a distance, no wolves baring fangs splattered with blood. Just a forest without monsters. Standing on her tiptoes to draw the curtains closed, she lands on the balls of her feet and glances at her laptop, which seems to be on the fritz. It's open, on her desk, and there's static being displayed across the screen. Accompanying it is a conglomerate of constant hissing and crackling; white noise. She steps back slowly, never taking her eyes off the computer, until the back of her knee hits the bed. Using her hand to glide across the bed, feeling for her phone and finds it. Grabbing it, Lydia lowers her eyes for a split second to press the first name in her recent calls list and walks back towards the desk, slowly, bringing the phone up to her ear. 

"'llo?"

"Stiles," she whispers, voice shaky to her own ears. "When you borrowed my laptop today? Did you download anything?" She asks, hoping it's like the time Jackson, instead of just streaming it, downloaded porn onto her computer, infecting it with a virus. Something, the way her heart is pounding, the way the room seems to have gone cold, tells her it isn't.

"No..." Stiles says, drawing out the vowels. "Not that I know of. Why?"

"Nothing," she replies. "It's nothing." 

"You sure? You don't sound like it's nothing."

Replies, "I'm fine." Smiles, even though he can't see her. "Really. I'm just gonna call Danny. It's probably a virus."

"If you're sure..." Stiles says, and she can sense the hesitance in his voice; the concern. 

"I'm sure. I'll call you. Later."

"Later," he echoes, sounding confused and about to ask if she's okay again. But Lydia presses the end button before he has a moment. 

Sinking down, slowly, into the desk chair, Lydia places her index finger gingerly on the touchpad. She puts just the slightest bit of pressure, but the second she does the screen goes completely dark with a flash that makes her flinch. When she opens her eyes again, she gasps. 

“Allison?”

"Lydia?" The image on the screen asks and Lydia's unflappable facade is completely unraveled, because it's _her_. It's _Allison_. 

The image goes in and out between bits of static, but she manages to make out one thing. 

“Help me.” 

\---

The next morning she finds herself knocking on the door of Derek's loft. His eyebrows raise when he sees who it is but he lets her in without comment and goes to the kitchen, stopping at the refrigerator to pull out various ingredients. Places them on the stove, so she takes a seat on the stool at the bar opposite him. Neither of them say anything for a short while, and Lydia can't bring herself to voice her thoughts, because voicing them makes it real. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

"I need your help," she says, and hears him pause in opening a loaf of bread. She opens her eyes to find him now turned around, facing her, arms crossed in a defensive manner. 

"With what?" His voice is gruff, but curious. 

She doesn't reply, just bends down to take her laptop out of her bag. Boots it up, heart lurching at the image of Allison that appears on the screen. It's on a constant loop, has been since she first viewed it, so she waits until it's at the beginning to turn it around. "With this." 

He watches, silent, but can she detect the shock in his eyes. 

"Is it..." his voice trails off, sounding hoarse. He clears his throat. 

"Yes," she whispers, the hushed sound seeming glaringly loud in the stillness of the loft. 

He nods, almost imperceptibly. Clears his throat a second time and crosses his arms. "Why me? Why not Scott? Or Stiles?" 

"Because," she snaps, voice taking on the very frantic edge that she's currently experiencing, "What if I'm wrong? What if I tell them and...." She can't bring herself to say it. 

"And she's still gone," Derek finishes for her. 

She glances up to him, nods. Watches as he turns back to the stove, drops a bit of butter into a pan. "You know what it's like to lose someone you care about." 

He tenses up, the muscles in his back and shoulders become prominent and visible through his shirt. He doesn't reply. She sits and waits, watches while he cooks. 

"It's better if you use garlic butter. On the toast." 

He pauses, continues not speaking, but reaches into the fridge and grabs a tub of something. She doesn't say anymore, only listens to the sizzling of the food in the pan and picks at her fingernails. They're painted red, almost the same color of blood. She shakes her head, a tic that's becoming something of a habit; feels like she's emptying all of the bad thoughts out. 

When she glances back up, Derek's placing a plate in front of her. It holds a grilled cheese worthy of a Kraft commercial down to how it's even cut diagonally. She smiles but doesn't touch it yet. He digs right in. 

"You're right," he says after tasting a bite. "It is better."

She smiles slightly, then looks down at the counter. "Allison taught me that."

Derek finishes the bite he's just taken, straightens up. 

"What do you need?"

\---------  
"This is pointless," Lydia says, snapping a thirty-something year old book shut and ignoring the pointed glare Derek sends her. 

They're in the library of Derek's loft. It's surprisingly well-stocked, and she imagines these must have been kept in storage somewhere off the preserve, but knows better than to say anything. 

They've been combing through volumes for ages. Lydia's starting to feel like there's a thin film of dust on her hands that will never go away. Picks up another book, this one large with a cracked spine and a faded symbol on the front and flips through the first of the yellowed pages, looking for anything that could possibly help. It's mainly general information, things they already know. Like the effects of wolfsbane or hecatolite. 

She's just about given up hope, resigned to the fact that she'll now have to scour the large encyclopedia of sorts she's been putting off, when a small drawing on the corner of a page catches her eye. It's on one of the last pages of the book, positioned awkwardly and drawn with shaky lines, like an afterthought. It's tiny, and sort of hard to decipher unless you squint your eyes and tilt your head just right. If you do, it almost looks like a nogitsune. She feels a surge of hope in her chest and quickly pushes it back down. Nogitsunes are supernatural creatures. They're bound to be included in a book describing all things supernatural.

 

She can't help but feel there's something there she's missing though. Something she just can't put her finger on. Flipping back a few pages and starts the chapter anew, this time carefully deciphering inch by inch of the pages. She goes to flip the page, only to find stuck to another one, and tugs on them until they part; revealing a page bearing the title 'Sacrifice.' 

Her eyes scan the page quickly, trying to see if anything immediately jumps out at her, but isn't until she actually starts reading that she sees it. 

_In order for one life to be revived, another must be taken._

"Derek," she whispers, eyes still on the page. 

He launches into defense mode, glancing around for a potential threat. His stance loosens up once he realizes there's no immediate danger. "What is it?"

She can't stop repeating it in her head.

"In order for one life to be revived, another must be taken." 

"What?" 

She looks away from the book and glances his way. Whispers, "Look." 

He sidles up beside the table the book's currently on, eyebrows raising ever higher the further he reads down the page. She waits until he's finished before she speaks again. 

"In order for one life to be revived," she starts, still hushed. Because it feels as if her voice gets any louder it'll break the fragile hope in the air. It'll somehow cause this to turn into nothing but another dead end. "Another must be taken." 

"So, if someone died...at the same time she did?" He copies her her quiet tone without comment and she's grateful for it. 

"But that doesn't make any sense," she says, shaking her head and scanning the page again. "If it was like that, she should've woken up instantly. _In order for one life to be revived, another life must be taken._ " 

"Could someone have died later? The next day or week? But at the same time?" 

"Maybe," Lydia says, narrowing her eyes. It feels as if she's taking a test and the answer is right in front of her, but she doesn't know what formula to use to figure it out. 

She starts muttering under breath. "In order for one life to be revived, another life must be taken. In order for one life to be revived, another life must be taken. In order for one life to --- Derek!" Her heads snaps up when it finally clicks. 

"What? What is it?" 

She turns to face him. "Stiles. When the nogitsune..." She trails off, unable to make herself say it. "He wasn't himself. Sometimes he was, but most of the time he wasn't. It was like he was..."

"Two different people," Derek finishes, and she can see the realization in his eyes. "You don't think..."

"It's worth a shot," she says, the hope, the desperation starting to seep into her voice. 

He seems to think over it for a second before speaking again. "I have an idea." 

"Okay," she says as if she's speaking to a small child. "Tell me." 

He grimaces slightly. "You're not gonna like it." 

\---

"You're right. I don't like it." Lydia says as she steps into the old diner on the outskirts of town. Spots Kira sitting in a booth beside Derek. Another time she might have found the image of her tiny frame beside his broad one amusing. Now, she's just annoyed. 

"Lydia," Derek chides, staring her down until she huffs and makes her way over to their booth. 

"I told you I didn't want anyone else involved," Lydia hisses. Derek states calmly back at her.

"I know." 

"You know?" She parrots, disbelievingly. "Have you suffered brain damage since the last time we spoke? No? Then what gave you the impression that this," she gestures to Kira, "would be a good idea? Hmm?" 

She glances over to Kira. "No offense."

"Oh! None taken!" Kira smiles brightly, a dimple appearing on the left side of her face. It reminds Lydia of Allison. She turns back to Derek.

"Kira's family has information. Information you and I don't have access to. She can help us." 

Lydia looks over at Kira, and she must not be able to hide her wariness as well as she thinks, because Kira frowns slightly and leans forward. 

"I won't tell them," she says. Lydia can hear the unspoken /him/ there. Scott. 

Derek tilts his head forward, as if to say 'see?' She turns her head until her head until her hair provides a curtain between her and Derek's smug expression. She focuses on Kira instead. 

"Okay. Talk." 

 

\---

_“Sometimes I wish I had your hair,” Lydia said, gazing wistfully at Allison’s long locks._

_Allison tilted her head too look disbelievingly at her. “Lydia, your hair is gorgeous.”_

_“Oh, I know,” Lydia agreed, prompting Allison too shake her head and smile fondly._

_“But I could never pull that off,” Lydia gestured to the pink dress Allison was stepping into. It fit her perfectly, showed just enough cleavage to be teasing, accentuated her curves, made her ever extending legs somehow look even longer._

_“Zip me up?” Allison requested, gathering her hair in her hands and shifting it to one side. Lydia got up from the bench she was sitting on and stood behind her. It was quiet in the dressing room, to the point where Lydia could feel the soft inhale-exhale of Allison’s breathing. She could feel it too, as well as the heat radiating off of her. The cut of the dress was long in the back, the zipper positioned almost at the very bottom of Allison’s spine. Lydia tugged on it, only for the zipper not to move._

_“Suck in,” Lydia commanded, and Allison did with a sharp intake of breath._

_The zipper moved easily after that and Lydia’s fingers brushed against the warm, smooth skin of Allison’s back as she dragged it along._

_“There,” Lydia said, once it was zipped all the way up. She brushed some nonexistent off of Allison’s shoulders, took a step back._

_“Now, my turn.”_

\--- 

Lydia wakes with a start. 

She kicks her comforter off of the bed, body drenched with sweat. It’s rare that she’s able to go to sleep these days, and every time she does, it’s Allison that she sees behind her eyes. It alternates between happy memories and sad ones. Goes back and forth between the two of them dancing together in the school gymnasium to the gut-wrenching feeling Lydia had felt the very second the arrow had pierced Allison’s body. Sometimes, she doesn’t see anything. Just hears her own scream, over and over again. 

Out of habit, she reaches over to her nightstand and checks her phone. Her hands are shaking slightly, and she ends up hitting Danny’s name in her contact list by accident. She finds herself typing out a message, explaining everything, and asking - no, begging, him to see if there was anything he could do to help. Hack into her computer, trace the video somehow. Danny’s reply comes back a few minutes later, with a promise to do his best and get back to her. She sets her phone down and goes to find something to distract herself with until then. 

She’s in the middle of organizing her dresser for the third time, switching from being organized by piece, then color coded, then back to piece again, when her phone dings with a Skype notification. 

“Hey, Danny,” Lydia says, smiling at him through the camera. He greets her through a yawn and she feels bad for possibly waking him in the middle of the night, before remembering he’s moved halfway across the world, is in a completely different time zone now, and he likely just woke up. 

“Well?” She asks, biting her lip, trying not to get her hopes up. 

Danny frowns, shaking his head. “No. I’m sorry. I did everything I could but…” He trails off with a shrug of his shoulders.

“No,” Lydia forces herself to smile. “I know you did. Thanks anyway.” 

“I really am sorry,” Danny says and that’s the thing about Danny, she knows he means it.  
Whenever other people tell her they’re sorry, whenever they look at her with those pitying eyes, her blood boils. She wants to scream, wants to say that their apologies don’t do anything, they don’t bring Allison back. But when Danny says it, she knows he sincere. He might not have known Allison that well, but he knows her. They’d met through Jackson, but they became friendly on their own. There were entire days they would spend together without mentioning or seeing Jackson at all. It drove Jackson crazy, which was just an extra benefit to their friendship. 

“I know she was your best friend.”

Also because it’s Danny, she feels safe enough to quietly say, “She was more than that.” 

Danny smiles at her, sympathetic and like he understands, probably because he does. Water’s starting to tear up in her eyes, so she smiles and swallows the lump in her throat, waves, and ends the call. 

\---

_“Do you mind?” Allison asked, holding up a tube of liquid liner. “My cat eye’s not nearly as good as yours.”_

_“Mmm,” Lydia hummed noncommittally, and plucked the tube from Allison’s fingers. “You think you’d be better at it, given you’re an archer and all. Aren’t you supposed to have a steady hand?”_

_“Ha ha,” Allison said sarcastically, but she was smiling._

_“Close your eyes,” Lydia demanded and Allison obeyed._

_“You smell good,” Allison remarked as Lydia painted black onto her eyelids. “What is that? Your lip gloss?”_

_“Stain.”_

_“Hmm?”_

_“Lip stain. Open,” Lydia commanded. Allison’s eyes flew open and Lydia leaned back just slightly to determine whether her handiwork is even enough. And when she glanced down she found Allison peering curiously at her lips. She forced her eyes back up to Allison’s eyes. “Close.”_

_She could feel Allison’s breath against her hand._

_“Is it strawberry?” Allison asked._

_“What?” Lydia cleared her throat._

_“Your lip gloss. Sorry, stain! Is it strawberry?”_

_“Watermelon.”_

_Allison smiled. “It’s nice. That’s a good color on you.”_

_“You can try it,” Lydia said, and her mind supplied her with the image of her leaning and kissing Allison, letting her try it that way._

_She took a step back. “There. All done.”_

_Allison smiled at her before turning around and studying Lydia’s handiwork in the mirror. “Thanks.”_

_Lydia went to her purse, pulled the lip stain out of her purse and handed it to Allison. “Here you go.”_

_Allison took it from her with a bright grin, and a slight blush. Lydia couldn't get that image out of her head for days._

\--- 

“Lydia. Lydia. _Lydia_ ,” There’s a large hand on her shoulder, shaking her awake. She springs up, looking around the room in a panic. It takes her a minute before she recognizes where she’s at; in Derek’s loft. They were researching, going through all of Derek’s family’s records, even a few documents Kira had charmed from the lady at the librarian downtown and she must have fallen asleep. 

“I had found something,” Lydia says, moving the papers covering the desk around frantically. “Where is it?” 

“Lydia,” Kira starts, glancing at Derek uneasily. “Maybe you should rest, you know? Maybe take a nap or something.”

“I can’t sleep,” Lydia snaps, regretting it the instant a hurt look comes over Kira’s face. “I can’t. Not since…” She shakes her head. “It’s not important. I did find something. Look.” 

Lydia picks up a yellowed piece of paper and holds it up. Derek and Kira move to stand behind her, Derek standing behind her left shoulder, Kira her right. It makes the room suddenly feel too hot, too crowded but she forces herself to move past it. She isn’t important right now. 

“See this?” 

It’s a sketch. Almost like a blueprint. 

“I didn’t think anything of it at first…” She stops, standing up and going over to the desk where her laptop is stationed. 

“I’d seen this somewhere before. Look.” She points to the video of Allison. 

Derek comes up beside her, studies the screen with a tilted head and narrowed eyes. 

“It’s the same,” Lydia says. 

Lydia holds up the sketch above the laptop screen. In the corner of the paper are two large rectangles, something in smudged cursive written on top of one. 

“I couldn’t make out the writing, but I think it’s ---”

“Water tanks,” Derek interrupts. He points to the screen. There’s a large cylinder in the background, so long the entirety of it doesn’t fit within the frame of the shot. Derek looks at the paper in Lydia’s hands.

“It’s a bunker.”

“Where?” Kira asks.

Lydia visibly deflates. “I don’t know. There isn’t a location. The architect didn’t even sign it. All they put is the year. 1951. They must have built it in case of---”

“Nuclear attack,” Derek finishes for her. 

Kira frowns. “How come nobody’s ever heard of it?”

“It would have been a secret,” Derek says. “Not many people would have been allowed to know about it in the first place and the ones who did probably died without ever telling anyone.” 

“Wait,” Kira says. “When did you say it would have been built?”

“The fifties?” Lydia responds, not sure where Kira is going with this. 

“There was a woman,” Kira states, walking over to her own computer. “That died a few years ago. She was born in the ‘20s, that would have made her in almost her thirties when the bunker was built, right?” She looks to Lydia for confirmation, who nods slowly. 

“Before she died, she was taken into police custody.”

“What for?” Derek asks.

Kira says nothing, just points at the screen. It’s an old newspaper article, the headline reading ‘Local Woman Taken Into Police Custody After Talk of Nuclear Attack.’ 

“It says she was just old and suffering from memory loss, but she specifically mentioned an underground bunker.” 

“Did she tell them where it was?” 

“Under the hospital. With an entrance through the morgue.”

Lydia turns to look at Derek, who shrugs. “It makes sense.”

“It would have been a way to keep treating patients. They could have stocked it with everything they need,” Lydia whispers, mostly to herself. 

“The woman,” Derek nods his head towards the article pulled up on the screen. “What was her name?”

Kira swallows. “Marjorie Argent.”

“You don’t think…” Lydia says, turning to Derek who nods once, firmly.

“Kate.” 

\---

Lydia rehashes the plan as they drive, convinced it’s better to explain it while they’re moving, instead of one singular, solitary spot, in case someone were to overhear them. 

“Scott’s mom is working the late shift tonight. She’s the only one that would recognize us,” She turns to Kira in the backseat. “Do you think you can distract her?” 

“Sure!” Kira smiles. It’s silent for a few seconds before Kira speaks again. “Um, how do I do that? Exactly?”

 

“Tell her you don’t what size underwear to get Scott for his birthday, I don’t know,” Lydia snaps. She’s on edge, it feels like her entire body is on fire, itching to find her. Allison. “It’s not important. You just need to distract her long enough for me and Derek to get by, got it?” Kira nods. “Good. Wait two minutes. Then, brush her off and follow us.” 

“No one’s in the morgue at night,” Lydia continues. “Which means the door locks and you need a code to get in.” 

“How are you planning on getting that?” Derek asks, turning on his blinker.

“I already have,” she says, pulling out a small slip of paper from the pocket on the front of her dress. 

“How?” Kira asks, sounding slightly amazed.

“I have a connection at the police station.” 

“Stiles?” Derek asks, but Lydia shakes her head no. He nods, understanding and she’s grateful he realizes she still doesn’t want to involve anyone else. Not yet. Not until she’s completely and totally, one hundred percent sure. 

“I bribed one of the rookies. They’re young and usually not very bright. They don’t ask a lot of questions. You,” Lydia says, pointing to Derek, who takes his eyes off the road just long enough to raise an eyebrow at her. “You should be able to hear where anyone is, correct?” Derek nods.

“Good. You’ll tell me what direction Allison is in and I’ll go find her. Meanwhile, the two of you will go and confront Psycho Aunt. Do you think you can handle it?”

“What if it’s more than just her?” Kira asks nervously. 

Lydia opens her mouth to respond, but Derek beats her to it. “It won’t be. She doesn’t have anyone left.” 

Lydia sighs, sliding down in the seat. “This is a terrible plan.”

“Um, this is _your_ plan,” Kira points out.

Lydia groans. “I know.”

\--- 

They make it to the morgue without a hitch. Kira’s just charming enough to completely distract Ms. McCall so she and Derek can slip past her and into the elevators. They sneak their way into the morgue without difficulty, and wait two whole minutes for Kira to appear. Lydia spends the entire time pacing back and forth, counting the seconds in her head. Kira appears right on time and together, the three of them find the entrance to the bunker easily. It makes Lydia start to worry. Everything’s going too perfectly. 

It’s dark inside the bunker; dusty, and cold. Derek tilts his head and points her left. With a nod she’s off, glancing behind her once to see Derek and Kira heading in the opposite direction. She walks down the long, dark corridor, her heels creating an echo as she does. “Allison?” She calls every so often, but never gets an answer. 

When she’s just passed a sixth door when she hears something coming from her left. “Allison?” She whispers, turning the handle and opening the door hesitantly. There’s something curled up, in a ball, in the corner, causing Lydia to step forward out of curiosity, and slightly of hope that it’s Allison. The figure shifts, revealing a pale face, a shot of light in the darkness, and it feels like all the air comes rushing out of Lydia’s body. 

“Allison!” She screams, rushing over to her so quickly the heel of her shoes barely make a sound as they hit the floor. Lydia halts to a stop in front of her, gets down onto her knees. 

“Allison,” she repeats, softly, reaching a hand out to her, slowly, like she would if she were approaching a timid animal. 

“Lydia?” Allison asks, but no sound comes out of her mouth. Her lips are cracked and dry, her face paler than Lydia has ever seen it, and there are deep, dark circles under her eyes. She’s shivering, her arms wrapped around herself. Lydia carefully helps her stand up, catching her when she wobbles. Lydia steadies her, rubbing her own hands up and down Allison’s arms in a desperate attempt to provide her with even the smallest amount of warmth. 

Lydia glances around the room, looking for anything that could help her, but quickly comes to realize there isn’t anything. She leads Allison away, starts walking her back towards the morgue. She sits Allison down in a chair by the desk and starts rifling through the cabinets. She finds a stack of Dixie cups and quickly fills it with tap water from the sink. She hands it for Allison to drink, then starts rummaging for a blanket, something, to keep Allison warm. 

“Lydia,” Allison says, and it’s hoarse and doesn’t sound quite right, but it’s _her_ , it’s _Allison_. “I’m fine,” she smiles, weakly. “Really. Thanks to you,” she nods towards Lydia. “My Princess Charming.” 

There’s a loud bang coming from the direction of the bunker. 

“Stay here,” Lydia says to Allison, turning away from here. It’s then that Melissa McCall walks through the door. She looks surprised when she sees Allison, but she recovers quickly. 

“Go,” Melissa tells Lydia, removing her stethoscope from her neck. “I got this.” 

Allison smiles and nods, so Lydia squeezes her hand once and follows the sound. 

She runs down the corridor Derek and Kira went down, straining her ears for a clue as to where they are. She stops to check the occasional door, but they’re always empty. She’s going pretty far down, much farther than she had needed to when she found Allison. She stops, pressing herself against the wall as she hears a loud crash. She peeks her head around the corner to find Kira holding her ankle on the ground. Derek’s crouched protectively in front of her and threateningly before Kate Argent. Kate’s back is to her, but Derek and Kira can see her clearly. She points to her mouth, circling her finger in the air around it, trying to signal what she’s about to do. Kira’s eyes widen, so Lydia knows she understands and Derek nods almost imperceptibly. She opens her mouth and screams. 

Kate’s hands fly to cover her ears and that’s when Derek attacks, coming at her from the side. The force knocks her to the ground, and Derek’s claws have ripped into her skin. He yanks them out, causing her to scream in pain. She tries to scramble away but Derek presses the heel of his boot onto her stomach, pushes in. 

“Derek,” she tries to say, eyes pleading.

Derek elongates his claws and swipes them across her throat. Blood starts oozing from the wound and Lydia’s torn between desperately wanting to look away and not being able to. Derek’s hands wrap around her neck and Lydia closes her eyes then so she won’t have to see, but she still hears the sickening crunch.

When she opens them again, Derek is on his knees beside the body, panting heavily. She can’t seem to move her eyes away from the scene. Which is probably why she doesn’t notice Allison until she’s placing a hand on Derek’s shoulder and saying. “It’s okay.” 

Melissa comes running in a few seconds later, shrugging her shoulders at Lydia in apology. 

“Did she...did she say anything?” Kira asks, getting up on her ankle gingerly. 

Allison looks at her aunt, lying lifeless on the floor. “No,” she says, shaking her head sadly. “I think she just...lost it. Nothing she said made any sense. Sometimes it seemed like she didn’t even know who I was.”

“Well,” Lydia says, crossing her arms. “It’s not like she was ever the poster child for sanity.” Kira looks appalled, Melissa looks torn between being amused and being uncomfortable, and Allison just looks fond. 

Allison laughs. “I missed you.” 

Lydia tosses her hair over her dramatically. “Of course you did.” 

Allison laughs, walking over to her. Melissa takes this as her cue to walk over to Kira and start checking over her ankle.

It feels like butterflies are flapping around in Lydia’s stomach as Allison walks towards her. She’s still so afraid, that this is some kind of trick, that this isn’t real, that this isn’t Allison. Everything calms in her though, the second Allison takes her hand. She feels like she can finally breathe again. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” Lydia demands, her voice edging on desperation, touching her forehead to Allison’s.

Allison smiles, squeezing their hands together. “C’mon, let’s go home.”


End file.
